


Wedding Cake (and other bridal stuff)

by mellyb6



Series: And Then There Were Four [13]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, I mean Aramis loves weddings, Lounging by the pool, Mati, Multi, Sunbathing, Wedding, Wedding brunch, a wedding weekend, also Porthos in a tuxedo yes please, cute sappy couples and poly people because that's what weddings do to me, isn't that nice, make me sappy and happy and there's no reason it shouldn't be the same for them, so does Porthos then, sunrise and romantic stuff by the dozen, when you're too tired and all you can do is kiss because anything more would be exhausting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-24 16:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10745346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyb6/pseuds/mellyb6
Summary: Aramis, Porthos and their cluster attend Constance and d'Artagnan's wedding.





	1. Chapter 1

The hotel that Constance and d'Artagnan booked for their wedding has a nice, large terrace which overlooks the swimming pool. A quieter place than the dancefloor in the room below. The floor seems to pulse with the rhythm of the loud music and yet the sounds are somewhat muffled. Either by the floor or the ceiling. So that's where Aramis and Porthos have retreated for the time being.

 

With no idea of the hour except that they must be pretty close to early morning. Exhausted from the long day, sweaty from the heat of July and the dancing. All the chirpy songs and the fun they had with their friends. How fantastic the entire day has been. Aramis can't shake the glowing faces of his friends off his mind. Constance laughing, smiling, hanging on to her husband with the sweetest love.

 

How emotional everything made him. To have Porthos with him on such a special day. To be together on so many pictures. Especially that frenzied moment after the civil ceremony. The short respite before heading to the church and there was some spare time for photographs. Of the bride and groom, of them with the bridesmaid and the best man. With the bridesmaid's husband so of course with Porthos, too. And Anne. Because Constance wouldn't have had it any other way. With the two persons Aramis loves. It made complete sense. With Mati, too, then. The boy wasn't going to let everyone on the picture without him.

 

Yes, that's probably the memory Aramis will cherish for a long time. Fondly. That his relationship has been so accepted by his closest friends. Regardless of the judging looks he noticed among the wedding party. He, for one, would have been good not flaunting it in people's faces. Not today. Porthos thought alike. It wasn't their day. There was no reason to divert attention from the newlyweds. Except the newlyweds were strong-willed.

 

And it was worth it. For Anne's stunned face when Constance urged her to join the men for the shot. How her body was slightly trembling before Aramis' arm slid around her waist and steadied her.

 

Aramis loves his friends for being so perfect. So understanding.

 

He smiles, lost in his thoughts.

 

“What'cha laughing at?” Porthos nudges his leg. They weren't talking and the quiet sound echoed around them.

 

Aramis is lounging in his chair, one leg stretched out, resting on Porthos' seat, taking up quite some space. It'd be annoying if Porthos wasn't also doing the exact same thing. The sole of his shoe rests next to Aramis' hip, staining it with dirt from the park and the dancefloor.

 

“I can't wait to frame that photo we took in the gardens of the city hall.”

 

Then Aramis yawns before Porthos can agree. They should go to bed but it's been such an amazing wedding that it should never end. Aramis reaches for his glass of champagne, finds it empty and aims for the wedding cake they salvaged from the fridge in the kitchens instead.

 

“How can you still eat anything is beyond me,” Porthos mumbles.

 

As far as he's concerned, he feels a bit sick. Too much food, too much alcohol, too much moving around and he's relieved they've stopped dancing altogether. Just the mere idea of standing up again to go to their bedroom sounds horrendous.

 

Aramis only shrugs. Takes one bite of the puff pastry before he realizes that yes, his boyfriend might be correct. He heaves a pained sigh, pushes the dessert away and rubs his stomach. He squirms in his seat to reach for his cigarettes. Porthos nudges his leg again, the only remontrance which will come from him. It's pointless. And it'd be lying to himself to deny that Aramis smoking turns him on. For whatever fucked up reason.

 

Perhaps it's the sheer delight on Aramis' face as he exhales and the smoke blurs his features for a few seconds. The short smile lingering on his lips. The nonchalant way that he's holding the cigarette. How it's not as much a desperate need to smoke it but reather pure pleasure. Something to enjoy once in a while. When Aramis has drunk so much it's the natural course of events.

 

“I shouldn't say that but...,” Porthos starts.

 

“Say it anyway.”

 

“You're hot when you smoke.”

 

Aramis chokes on his drag as he chuckles.

 

“I mean it.”

 

Porthos nudges Aramis' hip and it makes his boyfriend slide further down in the chair. Aramis throws his head back.

 

“The second time we kissed,” Porthos continues, “you'd been smoking. You tasted like cigarette the entire time we slept together that first night.”

 

“You remember that?” Aramis giggles.

 

“Yep.”

 

“Well, I am _something_ to remember after all.”

 

Aramis feels silly. Porthos smirks, leans on his elbows to close the gap between them. Aramis hums, eyes closed, cigarette at his lips.

 

“You also smoked after. We had sex. So close to me that it felt like _I_ was smoking. I couldn't shake the smell for days afterwards.”

 

Maybe it's the alcohol, the quiet and the hype which are bringing all these early memories to the fore. Witnessing the pure joy of the happy married couple which makes him feel sappy. And remember these first hours with Aramis when they were just strangers and they were supposed to just be a one-night stand. And now they're here. More than two years later and Porthos has never loved someone so purely and completely as he's loving Aramis. Goofy, sexy, health hazard Aramis.

 

Exactly like Portho remembers him from that first night.

 

“Like tonight?” Aramis asks, sitting up straight, feeling a rush of blood to his head which makes him dizzy until he can focus on Porthos and kiss him softly. Lips already parted and tongue sneaking in Porthos' mouth. One hand comes up to cup Aramis' neck, sliding to the nape of his neck. It stays there even after they're done kissing.

 

“Cigarettes make me think of sex with you,” Porthos confesses and Aramis can't help giving him a peck.

 

“Always?”

 

“Pretty much. When you're the one smoking.”

 

Aramis giggles again, purrs a bit with total happiness and gives Porthos another peck. A shower of them.

 

“I'm not having sex with you later, though. I'm going to collapse on the bed if we ever make it there.”

 

“The idea didn't even cross my mind,” Porthos groans. Bones crack and he sits back. Aramis just stays where he is, not moving.

 

“Tonight maybe. If we've woken up then. That was the most fun I've had in forever but seriously, weddings kill me.”

 

“And make you cry,” Porthos points out.

 

“I didn't! …. Almost. It was one tear. And nobody else saw it.”

 

“I'm not making fun of you, 'mis,” Porthos says after he's yawned. “I like you for showing your emotions so easily. When you love something, when you know it's safe to show what's in your heart. I love that.”

 

“You're definitely getting sex for that,” Aramis cooes and winks. Porthos huffs out. He did sound cheesy but it's the truth. “To give you something to remember me by at night for the weeks to come.”

 

This time, Porthos growls with frustration at the gloomy reminder of what's happening after the wedding weekend and for the rest of July. He'd rather stay in the country surrounded by Constance and d'Artagnan's bliss and ignore responsibilities and the upcoming separation.

 

Aramis rubs his boyfriend's thighs once he's done with his cigarette.

 

“And this time, unlike our first time, I won't make you sleep on the couch. We'll cuddle until we suffocate.”

 

That draws a smile from Porthos. How ridiculous they had been to come to this stupid arrangement so nobody would feel uncomfortable in the morning. Nobody sleeps on couches anymore.

 

“I'll take the cuddles,” he decides. “And the sex. I'd rather not stop breathing.”

 

Aramis snorts, leans impossibly close until he has to stand and hover over Porthos to kiss him. Linking his arms around Porthos' neck and rolling his tongue around his boyfriend's. Moaning at the hands on his hips, feeling the heat in spite of the tousled white shirt. Porthos' grip doesn't loosen. Doesn't move either. Simply keeps Aramis there with his mouth against Porthos'.

 

The catcalls coming from below hardly make him lose his balance.

 

“Get a room!” d'Artagnan shouts and Aramis flips him off, not budging.

 

“It's _your_ wedding night!”

 

He only looks up at the splashing noises to see Constance sitting by the pool in her wedding dress, feet in the water. And her husband is doing the same, rolled sleeves and rolled pantlegs. Then Aramis waves at Anne who's noticed them on the terrace as well.

 

There's hesitation in her eyes that Aramis can clearly make out in the glow of the lanterns. It vanishes after he's whispered something to Porthos who whips his head around to look at her and nod. It seems that they've been kissing for hours when Anne's light footsteps finally grow closer to them.

 

“Are you waiting for the sunrise, too?” she asks softly, coming to a stop by their side. Aramis retreats to his chair, chest heaving, feeling thirsty.

 

“That was the plan,” Porthos says.

 

“It's romantic,” Aramis stresses. “But it's been half an hour or something and it's still night and I'm tired and I think I'll just crash here. Unless you carry me.”

 

“In your dreams,” Porthos replies and there's an ache in his body just thinking about the exertion it'd trigger.

 

“I think I'm going to bed,” Anne ponders. “I can't feel my legs anymore.”

 

She'd put her heels back on to walk outside. It's been five minutes and the shoes are hurting her. Not even the sight of Porthos practically half naked as his shirt is mostly undone can revive her. She's had the time of her life dancing with the men earlier and her heart still drums with the tingly feelings coursing through her body that they could be so open about their affection in public and she'd feel comfortable enough with it.

 

It'll be in her dreams. That and memories of both Porthos and Aramis absolutely breathtaking in their tuxedos. There's something about Porthos in a suit and a bow tie which makes her heart stutter and her stomach flip.

 

“Where's Mati?” Aramis suddenly seems to recall he has a son.

 

“In bed. Where he's been for quite some time already.”

 

“Right.”

 

He doesn't remember the boy saying goodnight or anything. He does remember Mati deeply engrossed in his new friends for the day and the games the babysitter had planned. When Aramis thinks of it, it was odd not having his son always demanding his attention.

 

“Do you want your jacket back before I go?” Anne demands, tugging on the oversized one she's wearing over her light dress. There's dense curly blond hair cascading on the shoulders and it's a striking picture in the night. Porthos is mesmerized by it, unable to blink. Gaping perhaps.

 

“That's not mine....I think,” Aramis hazards, squinting. “No, not mine. Shoulders too wide.”

 

“Do you want it back?” she redirects her questions to Porthos who shakes his head.

 

“Nah. I'm good.”

 

“Good night then. Or what's left of it.”

 

It's easy now to bend and kiss the men first. To initiate those contacts. Even without the alcohol buzzing in her veins. Porthos presses against her lips, hungry and strong. Nice before Anne kisses Aramis and scowls with disgust at the wrong taste in his mouth.

 

“Sorry. Forgot I smoked.” Because he genuinely did. He's tired.

 

Anne scowls some more, smiling in spite of herself because he's cute in his exhaustion and wide eyes. She kisses Porthos again to erase the taste of cigarette. He chuckles against her mouth. At her eagerness and stubborness to refuse Aramis if he's smoked. He wishes he could have her will. He's hopeless when it comes to kissing his boyfriend.

 

There are more catcalls from d'Artagnan who looks as equally tipsy as the men. He's mostly ignored this time, Aramis stretching to look behind his shoulder at the retreating figure of Anne. How hot _she_ is in her dress and how he wishes they weren't so ready to sleep.

 

Porthos forces him back to him when she's disappeared in the darkness and he's found a new way to pass the time while they wait for the sun to rise. Cuddling and kissing Aramis while they discuss Anne and all the ways she makes them lose their minds. A new favorite of them. Until it's drown in the snuggles and the pretty colors in the sky and Aramis rests his head in the crook of Porthos' neck and really, would it be so bad to fall asleep on the terrace?

 


	2. Chapter 2

When Porthos and Aramis eventually reach the hotel room assigned to them and Anne (because isn't it just great and perfect that you're all dating ? Now you can all bunk together, the bed's like enormous and it clears one extra room for my cousin who's just decided last week that he needed a place to stay the night. You don't mind, do you ? And you don't say no to the bride the day before her wedding), Anne has adoribly passed out in the middle of preparing to go to bed.

 

Aramis sways on his legs, one hand flat on Porthos' chest and he shushes him, a tad too loudly. Then he points at Anne's sleeping figure as if it was necessary.

 

Her shoes are off, her dress is still on, there are still flowers in her hair yet some are already on the small console table. She's half sitting, half slouching in the lounge chair. Her head at an odd angle. Her earrings are on the carpet from where she clearly unintentionally dropped them. Her mouth is slightly open.

 

Aramis very nearly cooes because that's too precious and also he understands the deep desire to simply close his eyes and not open them for hours. But he doesn't coo. Because that might wake her up. He throws his jacket on the nearest armchair instead. It lands on the floor with a noise which could very much wake up Anne indeed. She mumbles and shifts a little. Her dress slides a bit and exposes part of her bra.

 

“Should we wake her up?” Porthos whispers and the door closes with a thud behind him. He flinches.

 

“What for?”

 

“So she can take off her clothes and be more comfortable.”

 

“She looks comfy enough to me. I'm not taking more than these off,” Aramis replies, sinking on the bed to bend forward and untie his shoes. The mattress is so soft it's like sitting on a fluffy cloud.

 

But Porthos frowns, notices the shiver coursing through Anne's bare arms and he'd hate for her to be woken up later because she's chilly. Actually, Aramis might be correct, too and he doesn't want her to wake her up at all now that she's blissfully sleeping. Still...

 

Anne mumbles and sighs when Porthos gently lifts her legs so she can lie down completely. Her toes curl and on instinct, she grips the blanket he spreads on top of her. Her eyes move beneath her eyelids yet they don't open. There's so much softness in Anne under her strong appearance and it makes Porthos want to hug her. Except he can't. So he tucks her in.

 

“Do it for me, too,” Aramis demands.

 

He's stood up again, shimming out of his trousers. They ruffle too much whenever he moves. Not a pleasant sound. His breath is hot and drunk in Porthos' neck. On his cheek after he's turned around.

 

Porthos rubs the top of Aramis' head, smirking goofily, muffling whines with his hand and then with his mouth even though Aramis is still squirming. Porthos pushes him on the bed and Aramis falls with a woosh, his head on a large pillow and curls everywhere. Porthos lies down on top of him, knocking the breath out of his boyfriend.

 

“That's how I'm tucking _you_ in,” he explains, gropping for the light sheet so they can crawl underneath it.

 

After, he rolls next to Aramis, hooks one leg above his boyfriend's, drop his head to Aramis' hot chest and listens to the hasty heartbeat against his cheek. There's a warm hand roaming his back, Aramis sighing with delight above Porthos' hair.

 

“I like that. Very much.”

 

Aramis' chest rumbles with each word, reverberating on Porthos' face and he kisses the patch of naked skin he can reach under Aramis' unbuttoned shirt.

 

Porthos squeezes his boyfriend's waist. Closes his eyes and the artificial light assaults him nonetheless. He doubts he can reach the switch from where he is.

 

“Light, 'mis,” he grumbles.

 

“Can't. Too far away.”

 

There's a second when they both groan and yawn until it doesn't matter because when Porthos emerges from his alcohol-induced sleep, lights are obviously not required anymore. Instead, there's vibrant, hot sunshine bathing the room.

 

It warms his naked chest and legs and somehow, he grew too uncomfortable in his tuxedo at one point since he's down to his underwear. He doesn't remember it. He didn't even hear Anne wake up and leave.

 

He's alone with Aramis who has rolled over on his stomach, hugging a pillow to his cheek, drooling a little, Porthos realizes. He stays there for a while, motionless, watching Aramis sleep and his mouth twitch and his fingers clench and unclench on the bedsheet. It's peaceful and it's cute and Porthos loves cute, carefree Aramis. He also needs to engrave yet another image in his mind to last him the remainder of July.

 

How funny that it's been a little over two years since they started dating and it's been two years since they've spent more than three days without seeing one another. For someone who didn't mind being by himself before finding Aramis, Porthos surely isn't looking forward to the couple of weeks when they'll be in different countries. It's not as if he _can't_ live without Aramis and it's not as if he's not aware that time alone is always greatly beneficial and appreciated. But still. It's a funny, odd feeling to realize that gorgeous face and those sexy eyes and this cheeky laughter won't be around him.

 

It could be worse. It could be _three_ weeks. He's not thinking about gloomy possibilities.

 

Porthos' stomach rumbles, awfully loudly in the silence and he rubs his eyes. Aramis groans as the mattress squeaks when his boyfriend stands up yet he doesn't stir. Porthos' entire body aches and there's pain in places he didn't imagine.

 

The shower feels amazing and there's not so much as a headache as consequences for the heavy drinking so Porthos considers himself lucky. And since his boyfriend hasn't moved at all, he decides to go searching for his girlfriend instead. Besides, the scheduled time for the brunch has passed so food must be waiting for him downstairs. It's unlikely everyone's awake already.

 

His most favorite breakfast smells greet him as Porthos wanders down the fairytale stairs. Bacon and eggs and pancakes -no, waffles but Porthos will take it nonetheless-, chocolate and salmon. So many sorts of fruit and he heads for those first. Strawberries, and mango and grapes and watermelon and grapefruit. And mimosas. He'll pass on these for now.

 

“Hi, Porfos!” Mati calls out suddenly from the long table where the kids are all eating together. It's a loud shrill and some of the people around the buffet glare at the child. “We're eating _om-lettes_ with eyes!”

 

“With what?” Porthos blinks.

 

“Eyes. They're olives. Look!”

 

He carefully holds up the plate. The two olives roll off and fall to the tiled floor. The ketchup making up the mouth is smeared. Mati pouts, stretches to gather the wasted food.

 

“Don't eat those,” Porthos says as a reflex. Mati shakes his blond curls under the hand on top of his head. He shakes his head even as Porthos crouches to kiss him hello. That's _very_ important to the child. 

 

“I won't,” Mati promises. “Give me some others....please.”

 

“It looks yummy,” Porthos comments after the babysitter has granted the boy's request. 

 

“Yes! And there's strawberry cake with whipped cream for when we're done!”

 

“Excellent! Have you seen your mom, kiddo?”

 

“Mamá's at the pool with Madame d'Artagnan,” Mati nods, chews on a piece of omelette. Porthos raises an amused eyebrow. 

 

“It's Madame d'Artagnan now? What happened to Constance?”

 

“Yes! Coz she's married with d'Artagnan now. She said. So we call her that.”

 

“Thanks for the heads-up, then.”

 

“You're welcome, Porfos.” Mati chews loudly again, his mouth open. A goo between his teeth and Porthos feels his stomach heave at the sight. 

 

So he hurries onto the patio with his plate and his glass of water since contrary to some people, he has to be at work the next day. Fresh and clear-headed and preferably with his body clear of any toxines. One can hope. 

 

He finds Anne lounging by the pool, lying on a sun lounger. It's early afternoon so it's hot enough for the swimming suit she's wearing and it's a sight for sore eyes, for sure. The golden skin with no end to it. The white material covering next to nothing. It pops out like a beacon in the broad daylight. Porthos always wants Anne so much. Then again, when has he never wanted the peole he's involved with, namely Aramis and her?

 

He sits down heavily in the chair by Anne's side. She's wearing sunglasses and her hat shadows most of her face but she's definitely smiling as soon as she notices him. More awake than he is. 

 

“Hi!” she says cheerfully. 

 

“Hey. Did you sleep okay?”

 

“I did.” Her neck hurt a bit because of the awkward positon but at least she didn't sweat as much as she would have if she'd shared the men's bed. 

 

“Aramis's still out of it,” Porthos mentions before she even starts looking for their boyfriend. 

 

She's good just being with Porthos, though. She likes being just with Porthos. Because Porthos is kind and funny and it gives her peculiar yet exciting butterflies in her stomach to know she's dating someone as gentle and extraordinary as he is. 

 

“I was afraid I'd wake you up.” Especially when she almost crashed to the floor because she'd forgotten she wasn't on a real bed. She can already feel the bruise blooming on her lower back. 

 

“Nah. Didn't hear a thing. I'm still tired. I can't believe I've to teach a class in the morning.”

 

“I cant believe people still take fitness classes in the summer,” Constance chimes in, walking past them, handing a cocktail to Anne who knows better than to refuse it. Porthos raises his head, hears the flowing sound of her sarong being dropped to the edge of the swimming pool before she heads for the water. 

 

“Because being in shape is a fantastic feeling and if you stop for a few weeks for vacations or whatever, then often you feel sloppy afterwards.”

 

Constance squints at his explanation, shrugs, and it makes Porthos laugh. Her wedding dress is nowhere to be seen anymore but her hairdo is mostly the same as the previous day. She keps on glancing at her wedding ring and Porthos supposes that's cute. 

 

“I'll take the vacation regardless,” she decides and Porthos snorts. 

 

Anne also chuckles and watches him chug his water. Long swallows which make his Adam's apple bob and she's going to miss him. It's not like they've spent every moment together since they've confessed their feelings. It's not like they've seen each other every day even. But he's been a more regular and thrilling presence and going to Spain without him seems wrong. Even if she'll have Aramis and Mati. 

 

“I wish you could take a vacation, too,” she ponders once Constance is distracted by her husband urging her to join him in the water. Anne tilts her head towards Porthos. 

 

It's not the first time they're having this conversation. It took some long nights to figure out everyone's plans for the summer. That fact that Anne's parents are still happy to host their daughter and their grandson as long as his fathers don't show their faces was a problem. Anne would have cancelled this part of the trip altogether even though it wouldn't have been fair to Mati. So she's going by herself with her son for a few days in Madrid. 

 

And then there's the fact that they're doing their week by the seaside like they've always done it since Mati was a baby. Except Porthos has to work because employees are entitled to their own time off and it's not good for a business owner to be away for such an extended period of time. Aramis sulked when Porthos pointed it out, sulked when Porthos was resolute even if unhappy with the decision yet the gym can't run itself. Aramis is most likely still sulking because of it but silently now since Porthos would hop on the plane with his boyfriend and his family if it were harmless and withouth consequences. 

 

So Porthos tries not to show how annoyed he is that the discussion is once again circling back to this topic. Anne has every right to be disappointed as well. And to voice it. Painful reminders of her upcoming absence, though. 

 

“I'm still getting a vacation,” Porthos replies. “Just shorter than yours. And you'll send pics.”

 

“.....yes... And we'll call.”

 

“And we have that concert we're going to when you'll come back.” He smiles broadly, eyes sparkling because how appaling is it that Anne has never attended a proper concert before? This has to be corrected. Obviously. 

 

“It's a date.”

 

“You bet!” He winks, finds comfort in her small smile and he has to close the gap between their mouths to kiss her. 

 

The way his lips mold against hers as if it were meant to be. Anne doesn't remember ever being kissed like that by anyone in her entire life. It's heaven. Porthos' fingers are soft against her neck, too, and she can't help leaning further into the touch. Then Porthos smiles again and his eyes are so close, so truthful and thankful and she understands how easy it was to fall in love with him. Over and over again. His beard scratches her cheek when he kisses it. 

 

“You'll have a fantastic time, Mati will give you more trouble and I'll rejoice in being a bachelor again. For a few days,” Porthos repeats the mantra he's come up with. “And Flea and Charon aren't leaving either. I'll miss you but it's only....14 or so days.”

 

“I know....”

 

“Tell you what. That first summer when Aramis left to be with you and Mati and I stayed behind? I was mopping around. Athos said I was a pain, I think. Because I wasn't used to dating and being with Aramis was so awesome that being apart was torture. So maybe that's the same for you now?”

 

“Because I haven't dated in years?”

 

“Maybe?” Porthos scratches his cheek and his chest and he manages to stifle a yawn. 

 

“I don't know...Perhaps...I don't think so. I simply love spending time with you,” Anne confesses honestly. “My heart does some funny things whenever I'm about to see you.”

 

Porthos can't see her eyes due to the sunglasses but he knows she's staring right at him and he's amazed at how far they've come and how these people would love his company so much. He's done questioning it yet it's still amazing. It makes  _his stomach_ flip. And not because he's drunk too much or that he's starving. 

 

He reaches for her lips and her mouth again and it wakes him right up. And yes. He's going to miss them but they have today and tomorrow and they have wonderful moments to look forward to. And Porthos has heard somewhere that it's healthy to not see one another all the time sometimes. Or rather Aramis read it and thrust the magazine at his boyfriend to prompt him to read it, too. Which he hasn't. Not yet. He'll add it to his to-do list for his alone time. 

 

“I love you, too, Anne. And...oh, look at that bedhair!” Porthos says out of the blue when he notices Aramis stumbling out on the patio with his coffee and his dishevelled hair and his bare feet. He blinks fast, comes slowly when he's spotted Porthos and Anne and collapses next to his boyfriend, bumping into him. 

 

“My head hurts,” is his only greeting. They all expected it. Aramis himself did and he hates his body but he won't deny it some fun even if he has to suffer the next day. 

 

“You're such a lightweight,” Anne teases. 

 

Porthos more or less says exactly the same thing at the same time. Which leads to Aramis glaring at them both. He steals some grapes from Porthos' plate, glares some more and goes for reparation kisses to stop the others from making fun of him. 

 

“I've some painkillers if you want,” Anne kindly offers, handing Aramis her untouched drink to hold before rummaging in her bag. Only the smell of the cocktail is revolting. Even the smell of his coffee is and he needs more sleep. 

 

“You're the best,” Aramis praises once she's found the pills and he can swallow some, thankful for the water Porthos sacrifices for him. “You're the best, too. I love you. And you too, Anne.”

 

Then he drops his head to Porthos' shoulder, closes his eyes and ignores Constance shouting that yes, everyone is so wonderful and great but won't they come and swim instead of just talking? It's the day after her wedding and she's still in charge. Aramis ignores her nonetheless, Porthos won't dare move and lets Aramis slowly make his way through all the fruit piled in his plate.

 


End file.
